


A Knight to Remember

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 16th Century CE, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Background Amara (Supernatural), But No Charlie This Time Sorry, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Dean is a Sweetheart, Humor, King John Winchester, Kings & Queens, Knight Castiel, M/M, Meddling Amara, Moondoor (Supernatural), Moondoor References, Orcs, Prince Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 04:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "It's with my honor and pleasure I bestow upon you the Sword of Cain, forged by generations of Winchester bloodline. To serve under the Winchester name, one must devote and lay down his life for his King and his descendants. You... you have proved your commitment.” Dean moves the sword to the right side of his shoulder. A few harrumphs sound from behind Dean, but he pays no mind. “Therefore, I now christen you Sir Castiel Novak of Lawrenceton. Congratulations, Cas."





	A Knight to Remember

_16 th Century Europe_

Dean lowers his sun-bathed sword onto the man’s left shoulder, decorated in plush sheepskin.

"It's with my honor and pleasure I bestow upon you the Sword of Cain, forged by generations of Winchester bloodline. To serve under the Winchester name, one must devote and lay down his life for his King and his descendants. You... you have proved your commitment.” Dean moves the sword to the right side of his shoulder. A few harrumphs sound from behind Dean, but he pays no mind. “Therefore, I now christen you Sir Castiel Novak of Lawrenceton. Congratulations, Cas."

Cas lifts his head with a small smile, which widens when Dean tosses him a wink.

The crowd, everyone from commoners to monarchs, claps amicably.

Dean has a feeling that’ll change soon. He’s known the man for all of a few days, so has everyone else in Lawrenceton, but he entrusts Cas with his life.

“Thank you, my liege,” Cas states when he stands up, bowing his head, “I won’t let you down.”

“I would hope not. Lest you want your head on the same spit as a pig.” Dean turns to face the crowd with upraised arms. “Now, let us feast!”

 

 

 

Although the feast is fit for kings, he didn’t give second thought inviting the commoners after the ceremony. His father, King of Lawrenceton, says he’s too soft. That his heart may be big, but it can never be big enough to clothe and feed every naked, starving commoner. But the least Dean can do is try.

Plus, without them, who’s to liven up the place? Seriously, minus the servants, they’ve got this vast ballroom that only his father, his younger brother, and he ever occupy, and the most entertainment they have is a guy named Chuck who sits in the corner strumming his lute with a bottle of whiskey.

Now, they not only have a dozen people laughing and pirouetting on the dancefloor, but they have music Dean’s never heard coming from a much livelier acapella group known as the Wayward Daughters, a team of female commoners from his brother’s age to his father’s. It’s beautiful, really. The familial bond these people share.

Dean watches all of it with a fond expression as he shoves another turkey leg down his throat. “Cas, don’t you think thi—!”

The whole table lurches forward with Dean, including the other Knights, before he holds up his hands.

“I’m…” What’s now practically bird mush slithers down his throat after a hard swallow. “I’m okay.”

“My liege, may I ask _you_ something?” Cas asks. Dean nods. “I’ll save your life again if I must, but try saving your ferocious bite for the battlefield.”

“No kidding,” Sam, his brother, scoffs next to him. “At least die _honorably_. No one wants to hear about a future king laying down his life for poultry.”

“Okay, alright, calm down.” He glances down his half-eaten leg with a grimace and shrugs.

Before he can sink his teeth into it again, a woman approaches him. Dean doesn’t have to turn his head to know who she is.

But, being a future King, he has to turn his head. Not only that, but stand up and reach for her hand.

It’s kind of his obligation as a future _husband._

“Dean,” she greets as he kisses her hand.

“Amara.”

“Lovely party,” she compliments, though the quivering smile as she scans the attendees portrays an entirely different comment. “Usually I wouldn’t be caught dead with commoners, but I can’t stand seeing you sit here by your lonesome.”

Dean knows what she’s hinting at. He knows he’s going to have to offer her to dance. If he had a choice in the matter, he’d choke on another turkey leg.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Amara—in fact, she’s physically flawless. She has a presence about her that’s alluring, and that all-black corset dress does many favors for her slim figure and large bosom. But her personality is… well, _un_ appealing. He’s going to need to wage wars on other kingdoms when they’re married just to have an excuse to be away from her.

So it comes as no surprise to anyone who knows Amara, even if just by proximity, that Dean has to take a lung-piercing breath before asking her so kindly—and so kingly—to dance.

“So,” she says as the song slows and she drapes her hands over his shoulders. She has eyes that are more than a shade of brown—they’re the color of whiskey. More so, whiskey at the bottom of a glass. Shallow. Translucent. It feels like downing a whole glass just _looking_ at her. Or makes you want to. “Castiel seems nice.”

Dean makes sure his feet are in rhythm, as not to look at her, as he replies, “Yeah, he’s a good man. He’ll make a fine addition to the Knights.”

“I’m surprised you knighted him, to be frank,” Amara continues, “and that King Winchester condoned it. I mean, it’s not tradition to knight a man based on personal preference.”

“He saved my life. He’s worthy of the title.”

“But do you think he’ll be a worthy fighter?”

“He’s saved me once already, and loyalty triumphs over skill,” contends Dean through the small space between his clenched teeth. “And royalty. One who is loyal will do anything to protect their King.”

“I hope to be proven wrong then,” Amara says, smiling reticently.

Dean sighs softly over her shoulder. He catches Cas’s gaze across the way, who smiles and nods in his direction with the tip of his chalice.

Dean finds himself smiling back.

~.~

Dean flies through the air, along with his normally trusty spear, and lands on his back with a thud. He must say, he has to give more compliments to the caretakers of the lawn outside their palace, because the grass is remarkably soft and supple. It’s almost enough to make Dean forget about the sword prodding his chest.

"Looks like I came out on top this time around, huh?" Cas remarks, showing off that smirk Dean’s come to both hate and love—the one that’s not enough to be a smile, being it doesn’t show enough teeth, but isn’t modest enough to shoo the aggressive crows attacking the corners of his eyes.

“I just lost my footing is all.”

“Right. Like most future Kings do.”

Dean rolls his eyes and is about to break into a grin of his own until he sees his father passing. He’s further away, but Dean can still see him pause in his stride. So instead, he clears his throat and shifts back to Cas, whose hand is outstretched.

Dean scrambles to his feet.

“Uh… thanks, I’m good.”

He doesn’t speak to Cas the rest of the day.

~.~

The sun’s shying behind the purple mountains, casting a bright orange glow in the sky and illuminating just a strip of the lake in front of it. The way it’s choppy and layered, the water closer inland resembles oatmeal. The light breeze that pushes it to shore tickles the nearby bushes. They appear to be waving to Dean when he rides into the village with Baby, his black stallion.

He received Baby from his father shy of turning five. Fifteen years later, she’s still kicking (though not nearly as high or as sprightly as when she was three, thank God), and ready to charge into the next battle with her owner.

Dean jumps off her and grabs her ropes to lead her into town. Until she broke into Martin Creaser’s homestead and drove out all his chickens, Dean used to leave her behind. Now, in her late teens, Baby’s calmed since, but Dean still brings her for the kids.

“Prince Winchester,” a villager greets, bowing her head.

Dean has to do a double-take. The short pixie cut, fair skin, and absence of makeup is familiar… but it’s the leather blacksmith apron that throws him off.

Then it hits him, where he recognizes her. He wags his finger. “Are you Jody Mills, by chance?”

The woman throws her head back. “I… yeah. How did you know?”

“I remember you,” Dean says, lending out his hand, “from the feast. You’re one of the Wayward Daughters.”

Jody blinks a few times before shaking Dean’s hand. She has a strong grip, and an even heartier laugh, “That’s right. You enjoyed the girls and I?”

“Loved it,” Dean confirms with a smile. “I talked with my father about having you ladies perform for us at the next royal ball. If you’re interested. Your services wouldn’t go fiscally unacknowledged, of course.”

“Uh, absolutely! I’ll tell the— _girls!_ Step away from the horse!”

Dean turns to find two girls, no older than ten or eleven, petting Baby. One has a full head of brown hair like her mother, the other blonde, but they both wear the same sour expression. **_“Maaaaaaaama!”_**

“Girrrrrrrls.”

“It’s okay,” Dean assures, “it’s the least I can do after you accepting my offer. Do you want to feed her?”

The girls nod with their entire bodies.

He moves to meet an older lady at a little boutique selling fruit. She politely declines the money.  “I have a feeling you’ll repay us soon,” she says, Scottish accent as sharp as her orange hair. “You’re a good soul, Prince Winchester. Keep a close eye on it.”

Dean doesn’t pay much mind to the comment. He just returns with the apples, leaving the girls squealing in joy. As easy as Baby sinks her teeth into the first apple, Dean’s face splits into a smile. He’s not sure how long he’s been looking on until another voice beckons his attention:

“She’s not wrong, you know.”

Dean cranes his head. Next to him is Cas decked in full Knight gear, chainmail and all, holding his own steed—white, to match the other Knights and their horses. He doesn’t look angry. In fact, he even looks at peace. Nonetheless, Dean stirs some dirt beneath his boot before saying, “Cas, I’m sorry for yesterday. I shouldn’t have ignored you. I just… I actually can’t explain what’s been going on in my head, to be honest.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” It feels like there’s more behind that statement than what meets Dean’s eye—which is Cas’s small, prickly smile—but he overlooks it in favor of the two Mills’ girls hugging and thanking him for the apples.

~.~

“Dean! Behind you!”

Dean spins on his heel in time to duck the oncoming sword. He thrusts his own, impaling the grunting Shadow Orc in the stomach. Yanking it out to hurdle at the next one, Dean spins on his heel. But before he can drive it into its chest, the monster thrusts forward with a silver sword wedged in its stomach. It falls and Dean sees none other than the man who called for his attention.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean’s a little breathy, but not so much for a half-cocked smile.

Cas winks just before another orc comes at him from the side.

“Benny, Garth! Cover me! I need to get to higher ground!”

The three run up the hill just north of the forest, orcs in tow. From there, he takes them on with bows and arrows until every last one of them is decorating the grassy knoll like black ornaments on a Christmas tree.

~.~

Dean and Cas stumble into Dean’s room like the drinks splashing against their stomachs. They fumble and fall a few times, using each other as life supports just to walk straight. Of course, that’s like the blind leading a directionally-challenged individual, so they only end up running into walls and breaking a bust worth an entire kingdom. (Seriously, people died for that bust.)

And now, the only thing dying are the words on Dean’s lips when Cas shoves him into his room.

“What was that for?”

Cas closes the door by collapsing on it before facing Dean with a shrug. “It’s only…” Cas hiccups. “Fair, for saving your ass constantly.”

“I guess I’ve just been a little distracted lately.”

“By what? Your first-world problems?”

Dean scoffs and shoves Cas back lightly, “I’ll have you know I did my share of suffering.”

The room feels darker now. Heavier. Cas shifts in his stance and does that famous tilt with his head. His eyes are warm and inviting as always, despite their deep blue nature, but Dean wants no part in it. He’s a future King. He’s supposed to alleviate the suffering of others, not the other way around. It’s a sign of vulnerability, and that’ll get him killed.

But with Cas, it’s a little easier. Though he still has to look down and away from Cas to explain, “My mom, the Queen, died a few years ago in a fire after a riot broke out.”

“Oh, Dean. If I had known—”

“You couldn’t have,” he replies, shrugging. “It’s just one of those things.”

“I lost my father at a tender age as well,” Cas says. “But then I found him a few years ago. In a bar. Writing a novel about his life story, according to the bartender, which is funny because I had no idea what he’d be writing about…”

Dean nods slowly. “You’re quite the enigma, Cas.”

“You have no idea, Dean.”

Dean feels like there’s more behind that response as well, but he also feels whiskey sloshing in his stomach, so his judgment isn’t the most astute at the moment. He just knows Cas looking at him with those deep pools for eyes is enough for him to venture into the deep end.

With only the weight of his alcohol to keep him afloat, he leans in. The closer he is to Cas, the shallower his breath becomes. It doesn’t help he smells of the forest’s perfumes from earlier, still musky and damp. His breath is warm, yet jagged, like an asthmatic dragon. Dean’s nervous, which is unimaginable, considering it’s Cas. This is the man who risked his life twice now the past month. Cas not only saved him from an actual fire-breathing dragon, but a Shadow Orc, the bloodsucking foes of Moondoor.

“Dean…” he whispers, to the future King’s surprise, after pulling away.

Dean resorts to scratching his neck with a forced laugh, “Sorry…” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have even tried to take advantage of you. I’m drunk, and—”

“Take me.”

Dean’s eyes blow open. “What?”

“Take me,” Cas repeats, deadpan. “I need you now.”

“I— _oh_. That… huh.” Cas’s face doesn’t crack. In fact, he’s just staring at Dean’s lips now with full-blown eyes, possessed by his own lustful inhibitions. “Okay. I… wasn’t expecting that. Usually, you know, it takes a whole arranged marriage, then the _actual_ marriage to work up to the sex bit, but this has been a nice turn of—”

Blissfully, Cas shuts Dean up with his lips.

~.~

Dean’s sword clanks and slides against Kevin’s as Dean suppresses it with his own. As Kevin lifts his arm to swing back, Dean uses more force, slamming Kevin’s sword down to knock it clean out of his hand. Dean scoops it up before it hits the ground. Twirling now two swords in his possession, he wastes no time (pretend) impaling Kevin with both. The next round and the one after that one finds Kevin on his knees with his own sword to his neck.

“C’mon, Chief, take it easy on the poor kid,” Benny beseeches on the sidelines with a chuckle, “’s his first day.”

“Exactly,” Dean retorts. “On the first day, anything can happen. I need to know he’ll be prepared to fight.”

“I’m pretty sure the Orcs take more pity on their own kind than this.”

Dean cocks his head to the other knights with a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, was it just my ears playing tricks or did he request more rounds?”

The knights holler in agreeance.

“That’s an appropriate position for fiddle-playing.”

Dean’s smile dissipates when he swivels his head to see Amara. He can’t tell if she’s donning a smirk or a purse, but with his father standing next to her, it’s probably the latter.

 

 

"I knew it was a bad decision for my son to let you into the Knights of Letters."

"Father—”

"You've corrupted him!” John rages, inches from Cas’s face. Cas doesn’t flinch. Not even when a vine of his father’s spit whips his cheek. “You bended him to your will! He's a future King, not your servant!"

"Father, please, I..." Dean sighs before shaking his head. Words he never thought would come so natural suddenly gather on his lips like water from a well basket, and feel just as pure: "I love him."

Cas’s whole face morphs into that of a man who’s seen the sun for the first time: Eyes crinkling to accommodate the warmth embracing him, nose wrinkling beneath the pressure of a smile that creates deserts with their echoing ripples. It’s probably the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever beheld.

“It's your choice, Dean,” his father states, hands still folded behind his back as he approaches his son. “The fate of Lawrenceton still rests in your hands. Do you choose Heaven on Earth, or paradise in Hell?"

"Don't you see? I've already chosen, Father,” Dean says, "My paradise on Earth is Cas."

John is quiet for a moment, looking only at the ground. The next, he brandishes a knife that finds home in Dean’s chest. His son’s eyes and hands try desperately to latch onto something more stable than his breathing. John just twists the knife, driving it further into him while simultaneously pushing him further away. “Very well then. I was proud of you, son.”

The last thing Dean sees and hears when he collapses to the floor is Cas.

 

 

For now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, as you might have guessed, this is a teaser of a much larger story in collaboration with winglxss, coming to a theatre near you when........ procrastination and inspiration aren't climbing the box office charts.


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